I've been a bit sad lately. I'm truly a happy and upbeat kinda gal, but some circumstances this past week have just beaten me into the ground. It's my own fault for being so outspoken, never one to be timid in sharing my beliefs or opinions on something. Yesssss, I do try to hold my tongue and thought I'd turned over a new leaf when we moved here 3 years ago, but as fate would have it I stuck foot in mouth trying to make way for the other foot in there also! Has anyone ever suffered this malady besides me? Hmmmmm? I wonder not to assuage my "guilt" because I don't believe I'm guilty of some heinous crime. I simply stuck up for a belief that is near and dear to my heart. Can you identify with this? I'm not known for my timidity, but rather known for my temerity. And temerity is the right word here. Hubs said to stop agonizing over it but that's easier said than done. I'm simply not sure what to do but it's more than I want to cope with at this time in my life.
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A few weeks ago I won a blog giveaway and received a book about Christmas containing several short stories about the religious significance of the holiday. I hadn't read it until this afternoon when I picked it up and read the preface and the author's notes in the back. Then I started reading.
The first story was about a woman who had lost her husband and was now spending her first Christmas without him. They had decided to have no children so she was quite alone and feeling very lonely and melancholy.
While plucking at the pages I noticed my finger nails needed a bit of tending, which is oft the case with these nails. My hands are working hands, not hands of leisure. They take a daily beating while keyboarding, washing pots, scrubbing paint off of them, washing clothes and ironing, sewing, gluing, crafting in some fashion or simply making beds. They aren't idle very often.
I looked at them as I was filing what's left of the chipped nails to get them to some semblance of "beauty" and wondered if my hubby would look at them when I'm preparing to leave this world and think they were beautiful. I'm truly not into beauty but try to be as attractive as possible for the man I absolutely adore more than life itself. I looked at the age spots that I'm trying diligently to bleach out with some product that promises to make them look as though no one can tell my age by looking at them. Well, they can see the wrinkles that have been accumulating for almost 70 years now! So why do I care about my hands so much??? I don't know; it just made me weep to think of what he'll remember when I'm gone. My clear green eyes, my wrinkled face, my slowly graying hair, my brown spots or my struggling nails or the fact that I'm no longer here to talk to him. Will he miss me terribly and weep as that woman did in the story? I think he would; he's a very emotional guy and not at all afraid to show emotion to me or our kids.
This is one of the photos I took at the nursery and that is my hand. I noticed it while perusing the photos and editing them. That's another reason I thought of my hands today while primping them. Oh, well, I'd better get to bed and muse some more tomorrow.
~~*~~
A few weeks ago I won a blog giveaway and received a book about Christmas containing several short stories about the religious significance of the holiday. I hadn't read it until this afternoon when I picked it up and read the preface and the author's notes in the back. Then I started reading.
The first story was about a woman who had lost her husband and was now spending her first Christmas without him. They had decided to have no children so she was quite alone and feeling very lonely and melancholy.
While plucking at the pages I noticed my finger nails needed a bit of tending, which is oft the case with these nails. My hands are working hands, not hands of leisure. They take a daily beating while keyboarding, washing pots, scrubbing paint off of them, washing clothes and ironing, sewing, gluing, crafting in some fashion or simply making beds. They aren't idle very often.
I looked at them as I was filing what's left of the chipped nails to get them to some semblance of "beauty" and wondered if my hubby would look at them when I'm preparing to leave this world and think they were beautiful. I'm truly not into beauty but try to be as attractive as possible for the man I absolutely adore more than life itself. I looked at the age spots that I'm trying diligently to bleach out with some product that promises to make them look as though no one can tell my age by looking at them. Well, they can see the wrinkles that have been accumulating for almost 70 years now! So why do I care about my hands so much??? I don't know; it just made me weep to think of what he'll remember when I'm gone. My clear green eyes, my wrinkled face, my slowly graying hair, my brown spots or my struggling nails or the fact that I'm no longer here to talk to him. Will he miss me terribly and weep as that woman did in the story? I think he would; he's a very emotional guy and not at all afraid to show emotion to me or our kids.
This is one of the photos I took at the nursery and that is my hand. I noticed it while perusing the photos and editing them. That's another reason I thought of my hands today while primping them. Oh, well, I'd better get to bed and muse some more tomorrow.
